Poem: 'The Slave's Last Hour', by Sarah J. Williams (English MS 415/126)
The Slave's Last Hour.
I saw a spot in India's burning clime.
Thereon the shadow of a tree did fall
With grateful shelter. It was evening time.
The hour of rest was coming fast, with all
The stillness and "the beauty of repose"
Which Nature grants unto the meanest thing
That seeketh slumber at the long day's close.
A weary slave his feeble form did fling
Down on that green, cool sod, to wait for death.
There was a calm upon his brow as tho'
His spirit then had done with all beneath,
Had suffered
As yet the deep-toned gong, or crackling scourge.
Had told not that the day of work was done,
And sunded[?] but the drooping slaves to urge.
To further toil, far from that dying one.
No hand was near to close his failing eye,
No human voice to speak one parting word;
Yet did the breeze of Heaven pass gently by
And tuneful sounds from the deep glen were ^heard
Yet was he not forsaken, nor alone
In that brief hour, life's sweetest and its last;
For his low whispers told his thoughts were gone
Back to the regions of the shadowy past.
If memory[?] aroused her powers to show
In one dark, dread review his all of life,
It was but that his parties soul might know
The loveliness of peace, from that long strife
If she returned once more the crowded mart,
And all his spirit in that scene had born
The hammer's fall that severed heart, from heart,
The jest, the laugh, the contumely, the seven
If she recalled again his mother's tears
Leaving her children for the long, long day,
And he who soothed awhile his early years,
Children who might not then his care repay.
'Twas that his spirit might ascend above
In warmer thankfulness that time was o'er,
And feel in all the strength of blighted love
How much Eternity might soon restore.
(So Where is the man who bears not in his heart
Some hope of future life beyond the tomb;
Of meetings where the loved shall never part
Of a long rest, and an eternal home?)
'Twas thus he spake. "Mother 'tis nightfall now,
Hush thy last child once more unto his rest.
"Young partner of my griefs: why weepest thou,
"Are not one children safe upon thy breast?
"Seest thou the tyrant? he who shed our blood
"In reckless vengeance. Aye we now may brook
"Unmoved his frown, who hath so often stood
"Unmoved upon our agonies to look.
"If it be true as some have dared to say,
"That Christ will render unto each his due,
"Vainly may he regret in that last day
"Deeds which Eternity can not undo.
Faintly upon the ear those last words came,
Meekly his dim eyes closed, and then he smiled
And grasped a few dead leaves. Then he became
Silent again, and quiet as a child,
A little child that sleeps the happy sleep
Of innocence upon its Mother's breast.
She damp earth was his pillow, but to deep
Was his soul's
The shades grew darker round that lonely spot,
The wind blew chilly from that woody glen,
It mattered naught. Nature had harmed him not
And he was then beyond the reach of men.
S J W
Mansfield May 11th 1833
Dear Madam
I have been practically engaged in
the service of the Slaves, by assisting some other ladies
to obtain signatures to a petition in their behalf and this
with an attack of influenza has prevented my attending
sooner to your friendly communication. As you
mentioned that your work would not be completed in
less than a fortnight, I ventured to delay my reply till
I can't prepare another poem. If you can conveniently
place it immediately after "The Planter's Last Hour"
I hope it ^will show something of a contrast.
Considering the religious disadvantages under which the
slaves labour I did not think it would be proper to repress[?]
one of them as having a confirmed expectation of the first
appearance of our Lord to judge mankind.
With regard to the alteration you suggested in the
other poem I think the one line might be written
"His dark brow pillowed in deep silence then"
If you think that would be an improvement.
My rebellions Muse will not suggest any syllable
that could be inserted in the last line without consider
ably weakening it. I hope if trafficèd be printed with the long
accent over the e it will not be mistaken. Perhaps as
both cannot be altered you will think it better neither
should. I am not sure whether it would be correct to have
words so near to each other, one rendered two syllables and the
the other three, but this I will leave to your judgement.
I should have been glad if I could have altered both lines.
I am afraid you will observe many corrections, for I
am so ill as only to be able to copy a few versus of a line
from the rough manuscript which none but myself
can dicipher. I have only to add, that if at any time
I can lend a similar assistance to any of your benevolent
design I shall be happy to be called upon.
I remain Dear Madam
Yours respectfully
S. J. Williams
Perhaps it will be needful to put a note connected with the
word "scourge" I should have liked a word that would have
expressed the sound better than "crackling".
--------
* The Slaves on the Plantations are summoned to their work
by the sounding of the gong on the cracking of the whip whose
last[?] is said to resemble the firing of a pistol. These[?] are sometimes
meant[?] to announce the time of meals or of retiring
[written crosswise:] Monday[?]. I had hoped to have been able to day to write a
clearer copy, but finding myself worse rather than better
I can only hope you will be able to read this.
[addressed:]
Mrs. Rawson
Josh Read Esqr
Wincobank Hall
near Sheffield
single
[postmark:]
Mansfield | MY13 | 18 3